


burning questions

by bxnmitchell



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnmitchell/pseuds/bxnmitchell
Summary: elaborations on answers to important questions.(a set of accompanying fics to the ben/callum poll thread by @thatyougaythen over on twitter)
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 18
Kudos: 187





	1. (1-10)

( _who’s more likely to steal the bedsheets during the night?_ **ben** )

For the third time in the same week Callum wakes up in the middle of the night, _freezing_ cold and dangerously close to falling off the edge of the bed. He cautiously rolls over until he can safely sit up and reaches blindly in the dark until he finds his phone on the bedside table. 3:41am. He groans and glances over his shoulder, wanting desperately to be annoyed but finding it to be an impossibility the second he lays eyes on Ben’s contented face peeking out from… every single blanket on their double bed. He quietly makes his way to the kitchen and flicks the heating on before making his way back to the bedroom, gearing himself up to wake Ben. He kneels on the edge of the bed and places his palm on Ben’s cheek.

‘Ben?’

‘Mm?’ Ben hums in response without so much opening his eyes.

‘Can I have some of the blankets back?’ He’s smirking by the time Ben finally wakes enough to look at him. Ben has the decency to look a little embarrassed, mumbling a small apology, and shifts back to his own side of the bed only for as long as it takes Callum to settle down next to him.

* * *

( _who’s more clingy?_ **ben** )

Ben does it without realising, Callum notices - plasters himself against Callum’s side the second he sits within three feet of him. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even take his eyes off of whatever evening viewing they’ve settled on that night. Callum thinks it’s muscle memory by this point. He has to plan when to sit down, knowing that as soon as he does, he’s there for at least the next hour. Tonight, he hovers by the kitchen counters, scanning the room and trying to remember if there’s anything he needs to do with any urgency while Ben leans easily against the far side of the sofa, muttering profanities about a contestant on a gameshow. When he’s certain everything’s in order he collects two fresh mugs of tea from the counter – his with two sugars and too much milk, Ben’s with one sugar and _only a splash!_ – and makes his way to Ben, who greets him with a gentle _thank you_ as he takes his drink. Ben takes two cautious sips, as though biding his time until Callum’s stopped fidgeting. He barely gives himself enough time to put the mug down before shuffling closer, dropping his head to Callum’s chest, and flinging an arm around his middle. He’s quiet only for a moment before he remembers why he was annoyed at _The Chase_.

‘If you’d ever consider taking a minus offer, we’d be over.’ Ben mutters, and Callum’s genuinely outraged.

‘I can’t believe you think so lowly of me.’

Ben lifts his head to smile up at Callum and gets a quick kiss in return.

* * *

( _who’s more likely to do the washing up?_ **callum** )

‘Have we ever made this much mess having dinner on our own?’ Ben asks, collecting two beer bottles from the coffee table.

‘Well, no, but double the people is double the mess.’ Callum tells him, shrugging as though it’s obvious.

‘This is far more than double the mess, Callum,’ Ben places two more wine glasses next to the sink where Callum stands scrubbing at a roasting dish. ‘How have four people used six wine glasses? I ain’t even been drinking wine!’ That earns a laugh from Callum, who wipes his face with his forearm and leaves a trail of bubbles across his cheek.

‘Just put the bottles in the bin, will ya? Let me worry about the washing up.’ Ben takes the hint and keeps quiet for a minute.

‘…Do you want help?’

‘And end up finding bits of roast potatoes on our plates ‘til Christmas? No, babe, you’re alright.’ Ben rests his hand on his chest and drops his jaw in mock offence.

‘I ain’t that bad!’ Callum raises his eyebrows. Ben smirks. ‘Next time Jay and Lola want a little dinner party they can either host it themselves or we’re ordering a pizza.’ With that, he ties the handles on a bin liner and disappears down the stairs.

* * *

( _who’s more likely to ask the other one to move in with them?_ **mutual agreement** )

There’s no gearing up for the conversation. Actually, come to think of it, there isn’t really a conversation at all. There was never even an ‘I’ve cleared a drawer in the bedroom for you’ conversation, just little parts of Callum’s life gradually dotted all over both of Ben’s family homes and little parts of Ben’s life on kitchen counters, coat hooks, and bathroom shelves in Callum’s flat. They only realise it’s getting difficult to have your possessions spread across three houses when things start to go missing.

‘Where’s my coat?’ Ben asks when he emerges from the bedroom – the one in Ian’s house, that is – with a towel draped around his shoulders.

‘Which coat?’

‘Red one.’

‘Oh, it’s at home.’ Ben frowns, gesturing around himself. ‘Sorry, at the flat.’ They hold one another’s glance for a moment.

‘Think it’s time to pick a home and stay in it, don’t you?’ Ben smirks, and Callum almost blushes.

‘I think you might be right.’

* * *

( _where are they most likely to live together?_ **callum’s current flat** )

‘Right then. How do we choose where to live? Flip a coin?’ Ben asks with a false nonchalance, placing two mugs on the table in the café as he falls back into in a chair that’s older than he is.

‘Can’t flip a coin, can we? There’s more than two options.’ Callum smirks, fiddling with the corner of the oilcloth table covering.

‘Roll a dice? Draw straws? Pick an address out of a hat?’

‘Or we could nip your gambling problem in the bud and not leave this one up to chance?’

‘My son having an adult conversation? I’d better check the weather forecast in Hell…’ Kathy intervenes, no context necessary, placing two bacon rolls on the table and disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived. Callum beams.

‘Yeah, cheers, Mum!’ Ben calls after her. ‘Right well that’s one of our many options ruled out.’

‘Probably for the best, to be fair,’ Callum muses with a small smile. ‘That house is bursting at the seams. Your dad’s?’ Ben shrugs almost imperceptibly.

‘That house has never felt like a home at the best of times.’ Ben mumbles, eyes settling on his coffee. Callum reaches across the table and covers Ben’s hand with his.

‘Suppose we’ve got our answer then, ain’t we?’

* * *

( _are they more likely to get a bulldog, get a joint gym membership, or move in together?_ **move in together** )

On their first night of officially living together, they celebrate with a takeaway. They’d spent three days ferrying Ben’s possessions over to the flat, said possessions consisting largely of a frankly impressive range of coats, and had found themselves too tired to cook and unable to find a straightforward path to the stove that didn’t involve stepping over a cardboard box. Now they sit side by side on the sofa, a bag of prawn crackers between them, and Callum laughs around a mouthful of food.

‘What you giggling at?’ Ben asks with a small smile, fork scraping along his plate.

‘You.’

‘Me?’ Callum nods. ‘What about me?’

‘Telling me you didn’t want to get a bulldog and a joint gym membership and move in with me.’ Ben can’t help but laugh too.

‘In my defence,’ he bites into a spring roll. ‘I don’t like bulldogs and I ain’t joining a gym.’

* * *

( _who would propose first?_ **ben** )

Like everything else in their lives, it would seem, there is no meticulous planning. They’ve been ringing in the new year at The Vic since eight, and it’s nearing three now. Ben’s spent a fair portion of his evening people watching in a deliberate attempt to commit the night to memory, unable to recall ever feeling so content. And yes, he knows it sounds odd to say he’s been watching his boyfriend all night but frankly he can’t take his eyes off him and, bloody hell, you try not to fall even further in love with a man putting his heart and soul into a performance of ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ with his future mother-in-law. The two of them are the last ones to leave, Mick still unable to ever kick Callum out of his home, and the landlord sends them off into the night with a genuine laugh and a _happy new year, boys!_ called from behind closing doors. Ben lingers a second, letting Callum walk a few paces ahead and taking in the scene before him: Christmas decorations still lingering around the square, a towering tree in the middle, strings of fairy lights stretching out in all directions, and Callum still walking in front of him. He seems to sense that Ben isn’t beside him, though, and turns to face him. Ben smiles, and Callum tilts his head inquisitively, unable to stop himself from matching Ben’s expression.

‘What?’

‘Marry me.’

* * *

( _who has control over the remote when watching tv?_ **ben** )

Callum waits until Ben’s finished settling his legs across his lap before handing him the remote, and Ben wastes no time in flicking through the channels. Callum occupies himself with resting his left hand on Ben’s knee and stretching his right arm across the back of the sofa, Ben’s hand instinctively finding its way to his in response.

‘This alright?’ Ben asks, gesturing to the screen single-handedly illuminating the living room. Callum doesn’t even look, just hums an agreement. It takes all of twenty minutes for Ben to completely lose himself in the drama of the episode unfolding before him, and Callum watches his expression change with complete adoration. He’s caught off guard, though, when later – and Callum’s truly not sure how long it’s been, by this point – Ben suddenly turns his head and speaks.

‘So, it’s her, then? Do you reckon? Gotta be, init?’

‘It’s who?’

‘Woman with the hat.’

‘Right… And what’s she meant to have done?’

‘Sent the letter that… Are you even watching this?’ Callum grimaces and shakes his head.

‘Not really, no.’ Ben rolls his eyes affectionately, chuckles softly and turns his attention back to the screen. Callum’s attention doesn’t falter and stays firmly on Ben.

* * *

( _who gives the most compliments on a daily basis?_ **callum to ben** )

He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it most of the time – it’s no secret that he talks before he thinks. So, when he’s watching Ben fasten his tie in the mirror he isn’t even fully aware that he’s muttered _suits you, that tie_ into his mug until Ben’s beside him and kissing his cheek.

‘Cheers, babe. See you for lunch, yeah?’ Callum nods, and with that Ben’s out the door and on his way to work. When they do meet up for lunch, they’re joined by Lola and Lexi, and Lexi cannot wait to show Ben what she’s been drawing at holiday club. Ben wastes no time in meeting her artwork with the reception it deserves, gasping and holding the drawing at arm’s length to properly appreciate it.

‘Wow, that is _amazing_ , Lex. Proper little artist, ain’t ya? Do you wanna go and show Nana?’ She’s thrilled that Ben loves her drawing, and yes, she does want to go and show Nana. Ben watches on with pride.

‘You’re amazing with her, you know that?’ Callum tells him, and Lola smiles her agreement. As lovely as their lunch is, they do eventually have to return to work, parting ways for a few hours until Ben trudges up the stairs to the flat, throws his coat over a chair, and catches his reflection in the mirror.

‘Bloody hell, I look a mess.’ He ruffles his hair and loosens his tie. Callum doesn’t even look up from the saucepan in front of him, doesn’t even wait a full second before giving his response.

‘You’re gorgeous.’ Ben laughs and shakes his head.

‘Are you after something?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve been complimenting me all day.’ Callum shrugs.

‘Maybe you should start believing me.’

* * *

( _who has the better fashion sense?_ **ben** )

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best idea for a man who wears an identical black suit eight hours a day, five days a week and a man who will only wear a carefully selected suit to a worthy occasion or to differentiate his not-so-criminal financial endeavours from his criminal ones to go clothes shopping together. But they’re here now, aren’t they? And to be honest, they’re running out of time. And Callum’s running out of patience.

‘Will you _please_ just pick a shirt?’ He pleads, leaning against the only part of the wall that isn’t lined top to bottom with clothes.

‘Yes, Callum, I will. As soon as I find one that won’t clash with the tie.’

‘Pick a different tie, then!’ Ben just looks at him, genuine disbelief on his face.

‘The tie has to match the suit.’ He says slowly, as if that might make Callum see sense. Obviously, it doesn’t work, and Callum runs his hands over his face in exasperation.

‘Alright, fine,’ Ben relents. ‘Let me try these three.’ For all his complaining, Callum can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy watching Ben’s little fashion show. He also can’t pretend that Ben was wrong – the tie _does_ match the suit – perfectly, in fact – and only one of the shirts doesn’t clash with the tie.

‘Gotta be the second one, ain’t it?’ Callum offers, watching Ben adjust his collar.

‘Look at that – he’s learning!’ Ben laughs, giving Callum a quick kiss before disappearing back into the changing room.


	2. (11-20)

( _who's more likely to take the other’s surname?_ **they’d double barrel** )

They – they being Ben and his hair – have found a way to be late for a reservation in a swanky London restaurant that was booked six months ago, as though half a year wasn’t enough notice. The table was booked for eight and at seventeen minutes past, after Callum has them nearly sprinting from the tube station, they’re only just reaching the door.

‘Mitchell?’ A voice behind them stops them in their tracks – someone calling that name out of the blue anywhere this side of London usually spells trouble. On this occasion, though, Ben’s immediately breaking out into a smile and extending his hand to the source of the exclamation.

‘Fletch! How have you been, mate?’ Callum senses that this conversation might last longer than the restaurant will be willing to hold their table for. He gives a quick smile to whoever Fletch is and quietly tells Ben he’s going to head inside, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze in a way that tells Ben he doesn’t need to rush the conversation. He pulls the door open and steps in, walking across pristine navy carpets to the maître d’, who looks more put together than he’s ever felt in his life.

‘Hi, we’ve got a reservation booked for eight?’ Callum says, a mix of cautiousness and faux confidence, bracing himself for the possibility that he’s about to be sent packing as the man before him discreetly checks his watch.

‘Certainly, sir. Your surname?’ Callum finally relaxes.

‘Uh, H-’ He starts, ready to say _Highway_ but realising that the reservation is in Ben’s name. ‘Mitchell. It’s Mitchell.’ The maître d’ gives Callum a warm if slightly professional smile and leads him to a table that’s already furnished with a bottle of champagne. A mildly flustered Ben is just arriving at the table as Callum takes his seat, dropping a kiss to his cheek and mumbling apologies as he sits down opposite him.

‘It’s alright, babe, honestly. I’m just glad we’re here.’ Ben smiles and gestures to the champagne bottle.

‘Shall we?’ Callum nods, and Ben pops the champagne open with ease, pouring them each a glass and looking up to find Callum beaming at him.

‘What you smiling at?’

‘Had to tell them my surname was Mitchell. Just liked the sound of it.’ He shrugs. Ben smiles back at him instinctively, then grimaces.

‘Don’t know if I like the thought of inflicting that name on ya… Ben Highway don’t really sound right, though, does it?’

‘We could double-barrel. Mitchell-Highway?’ Callum raises his glass, and Ben wastes no time in raising his too.

‘Mitchell-Highway.’

* * *

( _who has the better music taste?_ **ben** )

‘You know,’ Ben starts, shifting closer to Callum in an attempt to combat the volume of both the music and their guests. ‘Last time we attended a housewarming in this flat you found me crying in the bedroom.’ Callum rolls his eyes and loops his arm around Ben’s waist, leaning casually against the kitchen counters.

‘Yeah, well, let’s see if we can avoid that tonight, shall we?’

‘Bruv,’ Stuart appears beside them, beer bottle in hand. ‘I take it Ben picked the music, did he?’ Ben smirks.

‘And what’s that meant to mean?’ Callum asks.

‘He means it ain’t Ed Sheeran so it can’t have been left up to you.’ Ben jumps in, smiling up at Callum with a deliberate innocence.

‘Exactly.’ Stuart laughs.

‘Suppose you can’t use Ed Sheeran for your housewarming and your first attempt at wedding vows though, can ya?’ Ben turns to the source of the interjection. It’s Whitney. Ben raises his eyebrows, wide eyes darting between Whitney and Stuart.

‘Sorry? He what?’ Callum seems ready to provide an explanation, but Ben puts a hand on his chest to stop him, desperate for the full story.

‘Didn’t know how to write his vows so turned to the poetic genius of Ed Sheeran hoping no one would notice, didn’t he?’ Stuart provides, as Whitney struggles to hold in a laugh.

‘Think I liked it better when you two didn’t get on.’ Callum groans, attempting to hide his face in Ben’s shoulder as Ben lets out a loud and genuine laugh, rubbing Callum’s back.

‘Don’t blame us, babe – blame your taste in music.’

* * *

( _who’s the big spoon?_ **callum** )

Ben Mitchell’s silences speak volumes. What he told Callum was true: he _does_ find it hard to be sincere. He doesn’t find it hard to voice his insincerity, though. Always has to have the last word, Ben – as long as he’s vocalising his defence mechanisms, he’s got the situation covered. It’s when he’s quiet that you need to worry. Or that’s when _Callum_ worries, at least. It’s nearing seven now and he’s only just leaving work after not hearing from Ben in hours – no text, no call, nothing. He locks the parlour door and makes his way upstairs, finding the flat in relative darkness save for a quiet glow emanating from the bedroom. Callum sheds his suit jacket and tie, undoes his top button, and prepares himself for whatever state Ben might be in. Tentatively crossing the threshold, he finds Ben on his side facing away from the door, arms crossed over his chest, apparently having found another way to close himself off. He glances over his shoulder at the sound of Callum’s entrance – puffy eyes telling a story he’s not likely to repeat – and tears up again as soon as he catches Callum’s gentle smile. Callum sits down on the edge of the bed and kicks his shoes off, the only sound in the room being the shuffling of bedsheets. He curls himself around Ben’s form and thinks up something noncommittal to ask while Ben tries and fails to wipe his eyes on his sleeve without Callum noticing.

‘How long you been up here?’ Is what Callum settles on, and when it comes out it’s barely a whisper. Ben knows he means to say _you could have told me earlier_. He rests his arm over Ben’s, silently encouraging him to release the hold he has on himself, and places a kiss against the nape of his neck. ‘Didn’t even see you go past the parlour. I must have been in the other room.’ He takes Ben’s newly freed hand in his, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

‘Hour. Maybe more.’ Ben offers, and Callum hums. Ben silently shuffles himself backwards. Callum stays quiet until he’s settled himself, doesn’t speak again until he feels the grip Ben has on his hand tighten.

‘I’m here, you’re alright. It’s alright.’ Ben struggles to hold back a sob.

‘It’s not alright.’

‘Then it will be soon.’

* * *

( _who’s most likely to suggest a romantic getaway?_ **callum** )

‘Maybe we should go away for a bit.’ Callum muses aloud. It’s the second night this week that Ben’s had to work late at the car lot after spending his morning covering an employee that he’s dangerously close to sacking at the Arches. Ben looks up from the mess of paper on his desk and across to where Callum sits on the sofa, legs crossed, head tilted back against the wall, eyes somewhere on the ceiling.

‘Go home, babe. You don’t have to keep me company.’ Callum’s shaking his head before Ben’s even finished speaking.

‘I ain’t leaving you here on your own. Nothing good on the telly anyway.’ He smirks, and now it’s Ben’s turn to shake his head.

‘You’re so bored you’ve just suggested that you and that light fixture go on a romantic getaway.’ He points at the bulb in question, and Callum chuckles.

‘What do you reckon, though?’ Ben anxiously clicks his pen a few times, mulling over logistics, brain still in business mode.

‘A holiday?’

‘Not a _holiday_ holiday. Don’t have to be two weeks sunning ourselves in the Canaries or nothing. Weekend in the Cotswolds would do, you know? Anything. Just get out of here for a bit.’

‘Not such a bad idea, actually.’ Ben relents. ‘Reckon we can do better than the Cotswolds, though.’

* * *

( _who cooks for the other more often?_ **callum** )

It’s not that Ben _can’t_ cook, per se… It’s that Callum is infinitely better at it. Well, he’s trained, isn’t he? Obviously, cooking for two is quite different to his former normality, but the skill transfers easily, and so does the efficiency. As far as Callum’s concerned, logic dictates that he’d rather cook a dinner the two of them enjoy without any major catastrophe than come home to a sink full of pans that Ben didn’t strictly need to use and be eating pasta seven days a week. Unless Callum’s working late – in which case they’re having Ben’s speciality: a _mean_ spaghetti bolognese – Ben’s demoted to sous-chef, which is how he finds himself chopping onions at six thirty on a Wednesday evening.

‘Right.’ He sets the chopping board on the counter next to the hob as Callum pours some oil into a pan. ‘Onions are done. Anything else, Chef?’

‘Uh…’ Callum scans the surrounding space, crossing ingredients off against the checklist in his head. ‘Nope, that’s everything. You’re all done.’

‘In which case,’ Ben gives Callum a quick kiss and then takes a seat at the dining table, deliberately angled toward the stove. ‘I will take my seat and enjoy tonight’s episode of _Masterchef_.’ He lifts a glass of red wine and tilts it in Callum’s direction with a smirk.

‘Oi!’ Callum points a wooden spoon at him. ‘Less of the cheek, you, or you’ll be eatin’ baked legumes in a rich tomato sauce on a bed of delicately buttered, thinly sliced oven-baked dough for the next week.’ Ben stares blankly at him for a moment.

‘Gonna need a translation on that, Nigella – you sound like a Marks and Spencer’s advert.’

‘Beans on toast, Ben.’ He returns the wooden spoon to the pan. ‘You’ll be eatin’ beans on toast.’

* * *

( _who usually falls asleep first?_ **ben** )

The TV splashes blue light across pink walls as Ben struggles to keep his eyes open against the glare of it. He lost the plot of what they’re watching twenty minutes ago, but Callum’s fully captivated. He aims for discreet when he lets out another yawn and runs a hand over his face and misses by a mile. Callum draws his eyes away from the TV and glances down at where Ben rests against his chest, dropping a gentle kiss into his hair.

‘Right, come on then.’ Callum says decisively without a second thought, already moving to get up off the sofa, and Ben makes a small noise of protest at the loss of warmth and comfort.

‘What? Where you going?’

‘Bed.’ Callum responds simply, holding his hand out.

‘I’m not tired.’ Ben argues, and Callum has to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

‘I know, but I’ve gotta be in work early, ain’t I?’ It’s true, actually, but it’s purely coincidental.

‘What about the film?’

‘I’ve seen it before.’ Callum’s reassures him, muttering a quiet _go on_ while he busies himself with switching off the TV before Ben has the chance to disagree again. Ben dutifully disappears into the bedroom, and by the time Callum appears in the doorway he’s already under the duvet, setting the alarm on his phone. Callum climbs in next to him, and he’s immediately invading the other side of the bed. It’s nothing that Callum didn’t expect. He lifts his arm to let Ben closer, and Ben diligently takes the cue, resting his cheek against the taller man’s shoulder. Callum begins running his fingers between Ben’s shoulder blades.

‘What time are you going in?’ Ben mumbles, eyes already closed as he settles his hand against Callum’s chest.

‘Eight. Still be home at five though.’ Ben hums. ‘You at the car lot or the Arches?’ There’s a delay in Ben’s response. Callum’s not sure if he’s thinking or trying to stay awake.

‘Car lot. Lunch?’

‘Yeah. We’ll sort it in the morning. Go to sleep.’ The last Callum hears from Ben is an almost imperceptible _okay_ muttered against his collarbone before his breathing settles out.

* * *

( _who makes the best cup of tea/coffee?_ **callum** )

He’s more of a hot chocolate person, if he’s honest, but at some point in his life Callum had to accept that if he matched every hot drink anybody in his company drank with a hot chocolate of his own, he’d be on a permanent sugar high. He will not stoop to coffee – he cannot fathom that anybody actually likes the taste of it. He thinks it’s a conspiracy. He’ll settle for tea with two sugars, though, which is what he’s making on a dreary Sunday afternoon when Ben emerges at the top of the stairs, dripping wet and carrying something that looks like it used to be an umbrella. Callum’s jaw drops.

‘Don’t, Callum. Just don’t.’ Ben warns, dropping the former umbrella and peeling off his evidently useless coat.

‘You only went to the Minute Mart!’ Callum drops his teaspoon on the counter.

‘I know, and they didn’t even have any pasta, so we’ll have to order something.’ Callum can’t suppress a smile, but as Ben starts to shiver concern overrides amusement. He crosses to the doorway.

‘Go and get changed and I’ll make you a cuppa.’ He pushes a dripping strand of hair away from Ben’s forehead, replacing it with a kiss.

‘The way you make it.’

‘Too sugary and too milky?’ Ben nods.

‘Alright.’

* * *

( _who sends the most interesting texts?_ **neither of them** )

[](https://ibb.co/w4y4h4W) [](https://ibb.co/D8rnwK9) [](https://ibb.co/rySCdWs)

* * *

( _who’s funnier?_ **ben** )

Even all those months ago when Ben was definitively _just a mate_ , Callum couldn’t deny that he was funny. He’d drop a one-liner – _good day, sir! I was wondering if you could help me with a stiff_ – and Callum would find himself still thinking about the joke hours later. It used to be the thing Callum found most frustrating about him, something he had to work around to keep himself in a state of exasperation, and now it’s one of the reasons he finds himself so hopelessly in love. They’re in the Vic with Jay and Lola, Callum at the bar getting the next round in. From his vantage point he can drink in the full picture, and it’s almost cinematic: warm toned lighting against red wallpaper, Ben, Jay, and Lola all crowded around a small round table, Ben absolutely dominating the conversation, arm draped across Callum’s vacant chair as he delivers a story that from the snippets Callum can hear must be about a customer at the Arches this morning. Whatever it is, the second Ben finishes the story Jay and Lola erupt into a thunderous laughter that’s loud enough to draw glances from the surrounding punters. It’s then that Callum realises an older couple at the next table were listening to the story too, the two of them grinning into their glasses as they catch Ben’s eye. Ben raises his drink to them.

‘I’m here all week.’ He takes a sip, eyes still smiling.

‘There you go, boy.’ Mick puts three bottles down next to Lola’s gin and tonic.

‘Cheers, Mick.’ Callum responds, once he’s found the strength to draw his eyes away from Ben. He reaches into his pocket to find his wallet. Mick waves him away.

‘On the house. Seeing as your fella’s providing the entertainment for us tonight.’

* * *

( _who would make the most effort on the other’s birthday?_ **callum** )

Callum’s had enough bad birthdays in his life to never let anybody he loves experience one, if he can help it. So, at half seven in the morning on March 21st he’s sellotaping banners to the living room wall. He’s already set Ben’s presents out on the table, surrounded them in confetti, and inflated so many balloons that he’s still short of breath half an hour later. Once the last banner doesn’t seem like it’s going to fall down (he’ll worry about getting it off the wall without ripping the wallpaper only when he has to) he turns his attention back to breakfast, which is sizzling away in a frying pan. He’s plating up when Ben emerges from the bedroom, yawning and adjusting his glasses, then freezing as he takes in the sight of the flat. Callum discards his tea towel and rushes to take Ben in his arms, pressing a kiss on the top of his head.

‘Happy birthday.’ Callum mutters against soft hair.

‘Callum…’ He pulls away and looks down at Ben.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘Are you joking? I love it. You just… you didn’t have to do this.’

‘I never said I had to. I wanted to – you deserve it.’ Ben hides his face against the taller man’s chest, which Callum knows translates to _no I don’t_. ‘You do.’ Callum assures him, and tightens his arms around him. Ten minutes later, when they're halfway through their fry ups, a realisation dawns on Ben.

'How am I meant to compete with all this,' he starts, gesturing around the room with his fork. 'When your birthday's in four days?'

'Well, them banners ain't going anywhere anytime soon, so you'll just have to recycle them.' Ben chuckles. 'And please don't cook me breakfast.'


	3. (21-30)

( _who takes the longest getting ready?_ **ben** )

Ben emerges from the bathroom, one towel hanging loosely around his hips, one around his shoulders, clouds of steam trailing behind him. He glances briefly over his shoulder on the way to the bedroom, finding Callum sat with his legs up on the coffee table and crossed at the ankle, eyes glued to the TV.

‘You not getting ready?’ Ben asks, lifting a corner of the smaller towel to dry his hair, lingering in the bedroom doorway.

‘In a bit, yeah.’ Ben leans back into the kitchen to check the time. It’s 6:45 – they’ve got to be at The Vic soon.

‘You know we’ve only got forty-five minutes?’

‘I know. I’ll be ready, babe.’ When he doesn’t hear any movement, Callum senses that Ben isn’t convinced, and finally snaps his eyes away from the film he’s watching. ‘Promise.’ Ben eyes him, suspicious, but relents. He doesn’t realise that this is one of many ways in which Callum Highway has Ben Mitchell _completely_ figured out. Callum knows that from the second Ben starts getting ready, he’s got an hour and fifteen minutes until he’s done. Fifty of those minutes are time Callum will spend sat at the dining room table in his coat if he starts getting ready when Ben does. So tonight, with forty-five minutes before they have to leave, he’s got another twenty minutes to spend with _Thor_. When Ben reappears in the kitchen in his boxers – hair freshly styled, off to return his towels to the bathroom – Callum takes his cue. By the time he’s finished in the shower, Ben’s still picking a shirt. By the time he’s styled his hair, Ben’s on his second outfit change. By the time he’s fully dressed, coat on, housekeys in hand, hovering by the dining table, a flustered Ben is only just re-entering the kitchen.

‘Right.’ He sighs as though he needs to catch his breath and wipes away the thin layer of sweat that formed on his temples sometime during outfit change #3. ‘Ready?’ He smiles, and Callum can’t help but smile back.

‘Ready.’

* * *

( _who’s most likely to forget an anniversary?_ **ben** )

‘Tea please, Mum.’ Ben taps his hand on the café counter and turns to survey the crowd, catching sight of Lola in the far corner. ‘Alright, Lo?’ He asks, as Kathy places his drink on the counter behind him. Lola doesn’t even look up at him, just raises her eyebrows and keeps her eyes on her plate, cutting through a slice of bacon with far more force than is strictly necessary. Ben turns back to his mum, vaguely hurt.

‘What’s her problem? I’ve already had Callum in a mood with me this morning.’ He asks, picking up his cup, but quickly realises that Kathy isn’t going to shed any light on the matter. He sighs and crosses the café, dropping into the chair opposite Lola and bracing himself for whatever she’s about to berate him for.

‘Go on then – enlighten me. What have I done this time?’ Lola looks up at him, frowning slightly.

‘You really don’t know, do you?’ Ben’s suddenly worried, fidgeting in his chair.

‘Lo, please?’ She sighs.

‘When’s Lexi’s birthday?’ Ben frowns.

‘What are you on about?’

‘Ben. When’s Lexi’s birthday?’

‘Twenty-third of July.’

‘Right. And when’s Callum’s birthday?’

‘Twenty-fifth of March.’ Lola nods.

‘Okay. And when is your anniversary?’ She asks, incredibly slowly, and Ben immediately pales. He’s up and out of the café in seconds. By the time Ben hears Callum coming up the stairs to the flat that evening, he’s desperately hoping he’s done enough. He’s collected up every rose on the market, lined the kitchen counters with every candle Kathy could find, and “borrowed” a tablecloth from Ian to perfect the table setting for the takeaway he’s ordered. Their finest cutlery – which in their case just refers to the cutlery that doesn’t have plastic handles – sits alongside the metallic containers, and Ben’s certain that _not_ cooking for Callum is the best gift he could’ve given him. He hears Callum sigh as he approaches the final step, and both guilt and anticipation force Ben to instinctively straighten his back. The gasp Callum lets out when he sees the flat tells Ben he’s done enough. He smiles softly, rushing to meet Callum in the doorway and wrapping his arms around him.

‘Happy anniversary.’

‘Happy anniversary.’ Callum drops a kiss into Ben’s hair, then chuckles. ‘Go on then. Who told you?’

* * *

( _who’s more indecisive?_ **callum** )

Callum’s brilliant in a crisis. Cool, calm, collected. Pressure’s not a problem. A lack of pressure, though? _That’s_ a problem. If Callum’s got more than twenty seconds available to him to make a relatively unimportant decision, he finds himself completely unable to give a direct answer.

‘Callum Highway, light of my life. For the fifth time. Please. What do you want to watch?’ So far, this conversation’s been going on for an hour. They’re only going to the cinema and Ben can’t figure out why it needs to be so difficult.

‘For the fifth time, I don’t mind.’ Ben whines – _actually_ whines – and runs his hands over his face in sheer exasperation.

‘I will pay you to make a decision. I will give you actual money if you pick something now.’ Callum rolls his eyes.

‘Why don’t you pick?’

‘Because last time I picked the film you hated it! You spent the entire journey home pointing out all the plot holes and critiquing the bloody acting.’

‘I still enjoyed the company.’

‘Uh, no. Not a chance. You ain’t getting out of this by being romantic.’ Ben turns to check the time. ‘Listen, we’ve gotta go. We’ll have to pick when we get there.’ As it turns out, the added pressure of being stood at a ticket counter with only five minutes to go before the movie starts is enough to prompt Callum into making a decision. As they emerge from the cinema screen, eyes struggling against the return to daylight, Ben sighs what can only be a sigh of relief.

‘And that is why we let you pick the film.’ He says, affectionately bumping his shoulder against Callum’s arm. They both let out a soft laugh. ‘So, where do you want to go for dinner?’ Callum can do little more than stare at him, shrugging slightly.

‘I don’t mind.’

* * *

( _who fell in love first?_ **ben** )

‘It’s me that owes you, mate.’ If he says _mate_ enough times, he’ll believe it. ‘Trapped in traffic, I never knew I had that much to say for myself.’

‘That’d be because no one else is talking to ya.’ Ben laughs along but can’t help wondering if Callum’s right – maybe the feeling in his stomach isn’t what he thinks it is. Maybe he just needed to talk. Maybe it didn’t matter who was listening as long as _someone_ was.

‘Good to get it off my chest, though.’ He hopes he’s striking the right balance between gratitude and indifference, keeping Callum close but not _too_ close. He’s a _mate_ , alright? That’s all this is.

‘You’ve done the right thing with your dad.’ Ah. See, now he’s not just listening, is he? And Ben really doesn’t want to let Callum invest in this mess but, Christ, he needs to hear that.

‘Yeah?’ Subtext: _carry on_.

‘Yeah. You can start again now, can’t ya?’ Ben can’t count the number of things he’d do differently if he could ever really start again. How different would all this be if they’d found each other sooner, or under different circumstances? ‘Look him in the eye and know that you’re being genuine. I respect it.’ Ben starts running his thumb across the condensation on his glass, looking for something to focus on that isn’t his ever-crumbling personal life. ‘It ain’t easy telling the truth.’

‘Nah… Anyway. Um…’ One glance has Ben realising that Callum thinks he’s the butt of the joke again, thinks Ben’s having a dig. And alright, in the interest of _telling the truth_ , he is having a dig, but he’s wishing he could be honest too, wishing he could tell Callum not to do this to himself. It’s just not his place though, is it? He cannot let himself become a factor in Callum’s decision.

‘Yeah. I best do one.’ Too late to tell the truth now.

‘Yeah. Well, I gotta go and finish Lexi’s story. She won’t go to bed otherwise. No idea how I’m gonna end it.’ Ben retreats back into his own world, so Callum does the same.

‘Yeah, I better get this knuckle duster hid. If Whit finds out I’ve collected the wedding rings she’ll have us taking ‘em on and off all night.’ Ben forces a laugh.

‘She’s a lucky girl, mate.’ One last-ditch attempt at honesty as he holds Callum’s gaze for a split second longer than he should.

‘Thanks for the lift.’ And with that, he’s gone. Ben didn’t say it first, no. But he felt it.

* * *

( _who complains about the most things?_ **ben** )

Ben’s been fidgeting non-stop for the last five minutes. In Callum’s defence, he’s done his best to ignore it, but everyone has their limits.

‘Will you stop moving?’ He says, giving away more of his irritation that he’d intended to. Ben’s unphased, though – just huffs in response.

‘This settee’s like bloody quicksand.’ He struggles to his feet and begins rearranging the cushions.

‘You’re moaning about the sofa being _too_ comfortable?’

‘No. I’m moaning about the sofa being too soft.’

‘Go and sit over there then!’ Callum gestures vaguely to the dining table. Ben glances behind him.

‘Not soft enough.’ Callum rolls his eyes.

‘Alright, Goldilocks. Just sit yourself down, will ya?’ Ben eyes the sofa disapprovingly but does as he’s told. It takes all of five minutes for him to find something else to be unimpressed with.

‘That’s ridiculous.’ Callum closes his eyes and throws his head back, pre-empting his own exasperation with whatever Ben’s going to say next.

‘What’s ridiculous?’

‘You’re telling me he just puts some glasses on, and people don’t notice he’s a superhero?’

‘I seem to remember you had me watching a film that wanted me to believe that a blonde wig would stop people noticing their mate was an international popstar.’ Ben pulls a face that translates to _fair point_ , crossing his arms over his chest.

‘How long’s dinner gonna be, anyway?’ Callum just shakes his head, fighting an instinctive smile.

‘My _God_ , you’re lucky I love you.’

* * *

( _who fell harder?_ **both of them** )

It catches them off guard, sometimes, quite how foolishly in love they are. It’s not in the huge gestures and big declarations; it’s not performative and it’s not for anyone else to bear witness to.

It’s when Ben looks up at Callum sat in a rickety metal chair outside his mum’s café on a Saturday with the morning sun shining from behind him and providing absolutely no warmth at all while the two of them fight their hangovers with a fry-up.

It’s when Callum watches on as Ben sits with Lexi at Ian’s dining table playing a game of Go Fish that he’s losing on purpose and holding a full conversation with his mum at the same time.

It’s when they’re watching old episodes of _8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown_ in an otherwise pitch-black living room in the early hours of the morning, both unwilling to be the first to suggest they call it a night and risk implying that they could ever spend enough time together.

It’s when Callum appears in the car lot carrying a bag from the Minute Mart that holds two sandwiches and two packets of crisps when he knows Ben’s skipped breakfast and is too busy to leave his desk.

It’s when Ben brings Callum a mug of hot chocolate instead of tea when he’s a little bit too quiet, but never makes him talk if he isn’t ready to.

It’s in the domestic, the boring, the trivial. And it’s terrifying. Or it used to be, at least. Still sneaks up on them, though – overwhelms them to find themselves so undeniably in love. But there is not a single thing they would change about it.

* * *

( _who’s more of a winter person?_ **ben** )

Ben Mitchell – a man with so many coats he could use his wardrobe as an advent calendar – is a winter person. _Obviously_. Callum, though? Not so much.

‘Ben, you have got to turn the heating up.’ He pleads as Ben switches the kettle on. Ben looks over to where Callum sits on the sofa with his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, the collar of a black t-shirt peeking out from underneath it.

‘There is no way you’re cold. You’re wearing actual layers.’ He reaches up to take two mugs from the cupboard.

‘There’s no way you _ain’t_ cold! I know you like a coat, Ben, but I don’t wanna have to wear one in the front room.’ Ben laughs as he stirs their teas, dropping the teaspoon into the sink and crossing to the sofa. The second he sits down, Callum trails a hand up the back of his shirt, pressing icy fingers against bare skin. Ben gasps, body reflexively jolting away and sending tea sloshing over the sides of the two mugs.

‘Jesus, Callum!’ He leans forward to deposit the mugs on the coffee table.

‘Tried to tell you I was cold.’ Callum smirks.

‘You said you were cold not that you were getting frostbite!’ Ben pulls a fleece blanket from the arm of the sofa, shakes it out, and drapes it over Callum’s lap. He reaches forward and carefully lifts both mugs, passing one to Callum and settling his back against the taller man’s side. Callum loops his free arm around Ben’s waist and under his arm, dropping his hand into his lap. Ben takes his cue and locks his fingers with Callum’s, ignoring the subarctic temperatures. He lifts both of their hands to his lips – carefully, slowly, so as to avoid dislodging the mug resting precariously on his own lap – and presses a kiss against the back of Callum’s hand.

‘There you go. You’ll warm up in no time.’ Callum smiles, knowing Ben can’t see him doing so.

‘My hero.’ He squeezes Ben’s hand.

‘All that just to get a cuddle, eh? Next time just ask, will ya?’

* * *

( _who’s more of a drama queen?_ **ben** )

Ben’s reactions are as far from proportional as it’s possible to be. There’s no real logic or pattern to it, as far as Callum can tell. Sometimes he’ll be completely indifferent to something that Callum can’t even begin to get his head around, and sometimes he manages to work something inconsequential into something insurmountable. Mountains, molehills, etcetera.

‘Ben, it really doesn’t matter.’

‘It’s the wrong colour!’ The _it_ in question is Lexi’s birthday cake, which was meant to be purple, and is in fact… purple. Apparently not the right purple, though.

‘It ain’t the wrong colour, Ben! It’s just a bit lighter than we thought it would be.’

‘Which is a polite way to say it’s the wrong colour. This is the only thing Lola asked me to sort and I couldn’t even get that right.’ Ben drops himself into a dining room chair. Callum can sense that he’s about to pass the point of no return and places a hand on his shoulder, hoping to ground him in some way.

‘Look at me.’ To Callum’s surprise, he does, and Callum takes his face in his hands. ‘It’s perfect, and she’s going to love it because _you_ got it for her. If it was bright green she’d still love it. Alright?’ Ben looks unconvinced but nods anyway. ‘Now let’s take this to Ian’s, yeah?’ When they arrive, Lola and Lexi are bundling into the kitchen in seconds.

‘She’s been going on about this all morning!’ Lola laughs, as Callum deposits the box on the kitchen counter. Ben lifts Lexi up so that she can get a proper view of the cake and braces himself as Lola remove the lid from the cardboard container. Lexi gasps the second she sees it, pausing for a few seconds before throwing her arms around Ben.

‘Ben, it’s perfect!’ Lola tells him, beaming away. Callum doesn’t say a word.

* * *

_(who spends the most money?_ **ben** )

There was only occasion on which Ben did a weekly shop on his own. He’d spent £150 on the amount of food Callum usually spent £75 on, and after that Callum thought it best that they went together. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Ben’s not exactly known for being frugal, is he? Callum’s pretty sure he owns shirts that cost him more than Callum would be willing to spend on an entire outfit. That’s his prerogative – it’s his money to burn, if that’s what he wants to do with it. When they start living together, though, Callum can’t help but try to instil a morsel of financial awareness in him. Wandering the aisles in Tesco, Callum periodically switches items out in favour of a cheaper alternative or to take advantage of an offer that Ben’s completely overlooked.

‘What difference is a quid going to make?’ Ben asks, holding two jars of pasta sauce.

‘Quite a big one if you overspend by a quid on every single thing you buy.’ Callum responds, returning one jar to the shelf and putting the other in the trolley. Later, when they’re back at the flat and unpacking the shopping, Ben fiddles with the receipt while Callum folds a carrier bag.

‘What are you worrying about money for, anyway?’ His tone is playful, as though he’s got a punchline lined up, but he doesn’t expect Callum’s response.

‘Well, you’ve always had money, ain’t ya?’ Callum shrugs, passing Ben a loaf of bread. ‘When I was little, _not_ worrying about money weren’t an option. Just don’t see the point in wasting it.’ That catches Ben off guard, silencing him for a moment. He tries to hold Callum’s gaze, expecting him to continue, but knows the conversation is over when Callum looks away.

‘Can’t really argue with that.’ Is the quiet reply he eventually settles on, knowing full well it’s a cop out. He turns his attention back to putting the bread away, making a mental note to try and get Callum to open up a little more.

* * *

( _who would have the most exciting tinder profile?_ **ben** )

He’d only borrowed Ben’s phone look up directions while his own phone was on charge, but it’s so disorganised he can’t even find the right app, and instead stumbles upon something else.

‘Have you still got dating apps on here?’ Callum asks, catching sight of a logo he’d only encountered when Rainie had set him up with an underwhelming paramedic.

‘Probably.’ The fact that Ben doesn’t even look up from his desk is enough to tell Callum he needn’t be worried about it, but he can’t stop his curiosity.

‘Can I look at your profile?’ That gets Ben’s attention.

‘Do you have to?’ He grimaces.

‘No… but can I?’ Ben rolls his eyes; Callum takes that as a yes. ‘Are you having a laugh?’

‘What?’ Ben frowns, dropping his pen.

‘Why do all your pictures look like headshots?’ Ben shrugs.

‘Portrait mode.’ He says simply.

‘Portrait mode told you to pout like that, did it?’ Callum laughs, showing Ben the screen. ‘Probably for the best that we met the old-fashioned way, eh?’


	4. (31-40)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i know nothing about poker, and most of my research in an attempt to understand it was from an episode of friends, so if number 39 is in any way inaccurate i apologise in advance

( _who “wears the pants” in the relationship?_ **one leg each** )

It’s not deliberate. They don’t go out of their way to alternate buying dinner, choosing where that dinner is, or choosing what film they watch before it. It’s a rhythm they fall into, and it’s a rhythm that keeps them going.

‘Let’s go out tonight.’ Callum offers, placing Ben’s tea on the table in the café and taking a seat opposite him. It won’t erase Ben’s latest argument with Phil, but Callum hopes it’ll help take his mind off it at the very least. Ben frowns, aimlessly folding the corner of a napkin.

‘Don’t really fancy it.’ He responds.

‘I know, babe, but you’ll enjoy it once we’re there.’ Everything Callum says reads like a promise, and Ben instinctively puts his full faith in each and every one of those promises. He glances up to see the earnest expression of the taller man, still toying with the napkin, and nods. Callum breaks into a smile – he’ll take the small victory. A couple of days later, Callum comes home from work to find a packet of chocolate biscuits and two bars of Dairy Milk sat alongside a note in Ben’s familiar scrawl on the dining table. _Dinner tonight, Walford East. Love you xx_. It’s not a repayment – it’s a thank you.

* * *

( _who’s more likely to cry at a sad movie?_ **callum** )

Their last attempt at a proper get-together had ended in a mass clean-up operation, and Ben had made his feelings on any reoccurrences very clear – _next time Jay and Lola want a little dinner party they can either host it themselves or we’re ordering a pizza_. And, well, put it this way: Jay and Lola aren’t hosting.

‘We gonna put this film on or what?’ Is the gist of what Jay says, though the details are lost, muffled around his latest slice of pizza as he reclines in the armchair in the flat.

‘We ain’t finished eating yet!’ Lola responds, haphazardly drawing the curtains.

‘And you’ve got the remote!’ Callum interjects, laughing from the sofa as Lola easily takes her seat on Jay’s lap.

‘Yeah, well, can multitask, can’t we? Come on, Ben.’ Jay calls behind him to the kitchen.

‘Do you want your beer or not?’ Comes the response, followed by the sound of metal bottle tops against the countertops. Ben appears beside him moments later, dangling a beer bottle in front of him. Jay moves to take it, and Ben pulls it back out of reach, smirking mostly to himself. ‘Manners?’

‘ _Thank you._ ’ Jay rolls his eyes and snatches his drink.

‘Welcome.’ Ben places the other two bottles on the coffee table and passes Lola her glass, before falling onto the sofa next to Callum.

‘Right, come on then. Press play.’ Lola instructs as Ben settles his legs across Callum's lap. The film is light to begin with, eliciting the odd chuckle from the four of them, but draws further and further from comedy as it unfolds. Ben looks to his right at the sound of sniffling, smiling slightly, punchline on the tip of his tongue as he rests his hand on Callum's arm. Callum jumps at the touch, reflexively turning to face Ben, eyes brimming with tears and cheeks holding the marks of those already fallen. Ben’s smirk dissolves as he reads Callum’s expression, sensing quickly that he isn’t just a reacting to an averagely acted movie – he looks caught out in some way. _You alright?_ He mouths, suddenly grateful that Lola had drawn the curtains and thrown the room into relative darkness as he brushes a tear from Callum’s cheek. Callum nods instinctively. _You sure?_ Callum falters, knowing there’s no pretence to keep up by this point, and shakes his head. Ben wastes no time in placing his hand against Callum’s neck and guiding him to his chest, pressing a kiss to his hair, _it’s alright_ uttered so quietly that Callum might not even catch it. At the sound of movement and a strained sob, Lola turns to look at them, catching Ben’s eyeline. Ben gives a near imperceptible shake of the head as Jay squeezes her waist. She silently turns her attention back toward the TV as Ben begins rubbing Callum’s back. This isn’t a conversation for now, and certainly isn’t a conversation that needs an audience. He’ll talk when he’s ready to; when they’re on their own. And when he understands, Ben will find a discreet way to ask if a film has a war veteran in it.

* * *

( _who deals with spiders?_ **callum** )

Callum wakes to a scream. Ben's scream, to be specific. He’s up and out of the bedroom in seconds, immediately panicked as he catches sight of Ben, frozen in the bathroom doorway. He scans the room, movements slowing as soon as he’s certain there’s no visible threat.

‘What’s the matter?’ He frowns, still not fully awake, resting one hand on the small of Ben’s back and the other on his own chest as he attempts to calm his heartbeat.

‘ _Fucking_ hell.’ Ben flinches, turning towards Callum’s touch and grabbing onto a fistful of his t-shirt.

‘Ben?’

‘Look at it!’ He points in the general direction of the bath. Callum frowns, leaning just far enough around Ben’s startled form to see into the bathroom and immediately deflating when he realises what he’s supposed to be looking at.

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He rubs at his eyes.

‘Callum!’

‘It’s a spider, Ben.’

‘It’s gigantic, is what it is!’ It isn’t. ‘It’s got _hair!_ ’ It hasn’t. Callum sighs and starts back toward the bedroom. ‘Where are you going?’ Ben calls frantically after him, unable to look away from the eight-legged creature.

‘Back to bed.’

‘You’ve gotta get rid of it!’

‘It ain’t gonna hurt you!’ Ben looks uncertain as he takes a step back, glancing around the living room. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘A magazine or something, I don’t know.’ Callum looks suddenly distraught.

‘Don’t hurt it!’ He instinctively moves to obstruct Ben’s path to the bathroom.

‘ _Then get rid of it!_ ’ Ben finally forces Callum’s intervention.

‘Pass me that envelope.’ He tells him, removing the cap from a bottle of hairspray.

‘I can’t believe you care more about protecting a spider than protecting me.’

‘I can’t believe you’re twenty-three and scared of spiders.’

* * *

( _who’s more domestic?_ **callum** )

Ben is essentially entropy wearing a checked coat. Unless he’s playing host, his domestic instinct only really shows itself in times of crisis, there to compensate for the temporary absence of somebody else’s. Callum’s always been on top of things, though. His domestic instinct isn’t really _instinct_ at all – it was taught to him and used to come with a uniform. The four walls of his flat, bright pink and floral-paper-covered as they are, create the one space he can always keep under his control. In fairness, it didn’t take as long as he’d expected to instil his _instinct_ in Ben too, though he’d needed a bit of gentle encouragement at first.

‘You finished with that?’ Callum asks, nodding in the direction of an abandoned mug. Ben rolls his eyes and takes the mug to the sink, a disgruntled _yes, Mum_ spoken under his breath as he runs the tap. Luckily for Callum, though, some encouragement is naturally occurring.

‘Babe, you seen my black jeans?’ Ben asks from behind the bedroom door a week or so later.

‘Washing basket.’ Callum calls back. Ben groans in response, emerging a moment later in his second choice of jeans, dragging a laundry basket behind him. Soon Callum finds there’s no need for encouragement at all. After no more than three weeks of living together, he pops up to the flat on his lunch break one afternoon and finds Ben mopping the kitchen floor.

‘Alright, babe?’

‘You’re home early.’ Callum observes, draping his coat over the back of the armchair. Ben carefully balances the mop against the wall and greets Callum with a kiss, wrapping his arms around his waist.

‘Slow day.’ He says, by way of an explanation. ‘Gave myself the afternoon off – perks of being the boss.’

‘And you ain’t got a better way to waste an afternoon?’

‘Well, I thought I’d give the flat a once-over so it was clean when you got back later, but you’ve ruined the fun, ain’t ya?’ Callum raises his eyebrows.

‘Fun? You’ve changed your tune.’ Ben rolls his eyes, playfully swatting at Callum’s chest as he pulls away. Callum finds himself unable to contain a smile as Ben moves to hang his coat on the coatrack. Callum Highway has domesticated entropy.

* * *

( _who’s more social?_ **ben** )

Callum said it himself once: he’s not needy, he just likes people. The same can’t really be said of Ben. He loves deeply if not widely, but he’s a good enough talker that anybody who didn’t know him might believe otherwise. It’s all part of the charm; if he wants to – which, granted, is rare – Ben can talk to _anyone_. That isn’t to say that he does, mind you, or even that he should, if history is anything to go by, but once you’ve stopped fearing sticks and stones, there’s no need to fear names either. Nothing anyone could call him was worse than what he’d already called himself. He’s long since chosen to forget the fear of people, knows when to relish an audience.

‘You still up for The Vic tonight?’ He asks, readjusting his coat as he lowers himself to the edge of Callum’s desk.

‘Yeah, course. Something to do, ain’t it?’ Callum laughs, replacing the lid on his pen. When they arrive at the pub, they’re fashionably late, which is exactly how Ben likes it. They approach the bar, releasing each other’s hands to return hugs and handshakes, and wait for the dust to settle. Whitney and Lola jump right back into the intense discussion that the couple’s arrival had disrupted; Mick initiates a light conversation with Callum across the bar; Ben sips his pint and waits for the right moment. As the night unfolds, he holds court, stays just ahead of the conversation, anticipates every punchline, knows when to beat someone to it and when to let them have it.

‘You’re on form tonight, ain’t ya?’ Jay nudges his arm with his elbow in a brief moment alone at the table.

‘I’m always on form, Jay.’

* * *

_(who’s more of a summer person?_ **callum** )

Callum wipes his hand across his forehead, finishing off a can of can of Sprite as he approaches the car lot and frowning as he notices that all the blinds are closed. He tentatively pushes the door open, eyes immediately landing on Ben as he steps into the room. 

‘Working hard, I see.’ Ben’s sat at his desk, head resting on folded arms, eyes closed, face inches away from an electric fan. He emits a groan in response, doesn’t even open his eyes. ‘What are you sat in the dark for?’ Callum laughs, closing the door behind him.

‘Not everyone loves the sun as much as you, Callum.’

‘It’s hotter in here than it is outside, you know.’ Callum tells him as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the desk. He drops his can into the waste basket and places his hands against Ben’s cheeks. Ben’s eyes immediately snap open.

‘Why are your hands so cold?’ He asks, sitting up a little so that he can rest his own hands on top of Callum’s to keep them in place.

‘Just had a cold Sprite, which is something people normally do when it’s hot outside, rather than locking themselves in a big microwave.’ Ben laughs, releasing Callum’s hands and leaning back in his chair, t-shirt clinging to him – he’d given up on suits three days into the heatwave. He picks up a folder to fan himself with while Callum rolls up his sleeves, glancing at the clock. ‘D’you wanna get out of here for a bit?’

‘I can’t.’ Ben starts. ‘Heatwaves mean men in mid-life crises buying convertibles.’

‘Do you really want to be responsible for enabling that?’ Ben grimaces.

‘Good point.’

‘Then let’s go and get an ice cream before you start melting.’

* * *

( _who has the better taste in tv shows?_ **lexi** )

It had been background noise at first, but once Lola had left for the school run and their conversation had rounded off, they’d both inadvertently begun focussing on the TV. That was over half an hour ago. Lola closes the back door to No 45 behind her, placing her keys on the kitchen counter. She frowns to herself – she’d have expected Ben and Callum to turn the TV off before they left. She follows the sound, making her way into the living room to find Ben slouched in the armchair and Callum perched on the arm of the sofa, neither one of them having noticed that she’s back. She silently removes her phone from her pocket to snap a picture of them, CBeebies clearly visible on the screen between them, then finally lets out her laughter. They both jump at the sound, immediately turning to face her.

‘Are you pair serious?’ She asks as she catches her breath.

‘We wanted to see how it ended.’ Ben responds, falsely indifferent, standing up as the credits run.

‘You know that Lex doesn’t even watch that, don’t you?’ Ben shrugs as the three of them walk to the kitchen.

‘Maybe she should. We’ve just learned a very important lesson about sharing.’

‘That _is_ an important lesson.’ Lola nods her agreement as Callum takes three mugs from the cupboard. ‘Which is why I’ll be _sharing_ this photo,’ she shows them her screen. ‘With everybody we know.’

* * *

( _if they got a bulldog… who would walk them more?_ **together, hand in hand** )

‘Do you think we’ll ever actually get a bulldog?’ It’s quiet, a wistful whisper in the dark when Ben’s nearly asleep, nostalgic for something yet to unfold. Ben’s curled on his side with his back to Callum, who lays deciphering the patterns on the ceiling, hand resting lightly on Ben’s hip. Ben lets out something that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, pulling the duvet further up his chest and settling his hand on top of Callum’s.

‘Go to sleep, Callum.’

‘Do you, though?’ Ben turns onto his back, mirroring the taller man’s position, and throws an arm over his head.

‘Told you before, ain’t I? I don’t like bulldogs.’

‘What made you say it then?’ Ben’s too tired to filter his thoughts.

‘Mick and Linda had Lady Di when you lived at The Vic.’ Callum turns to look at him, searching for anything that might suggest he’s not being serious.

‘I cannot believe you ever had a reputation as an East End hardman.’ Ben gives an indignant moan as Callum turns his attention back to the ceiling. ‘I’d walk it,’ he continues after a moment of thought. ‘Take it jogging with me.’

‘Then you wouldn’t need your half of the joint gym membership.’ Callum laughs softly, relocating Ben’s hand and interlocking their fingers.

‘Alright then, we’ll get rid of the joint gym membership and walk it together. Evening strolls, holding hands, the lot.’

‘Very romantic.’ Ben responds around a yawn.

‘So, we _will_ get a bulldog then?’

‘We’ll see.’

* * *

( _who’s more of a sore loser?_ **ben** )

Ben is remarkably, _annoyingly_ good at any game that requires any degree of skill, forward thinking, or lying. Poker, Rummy, Cheat, Pairs, Cluedo, Monopoly, even Chess, on occasion. Nine times out of ten, he will win. If the game depends solely on chance, all bets are off – he’s no stranger to a casino, but you will never find him at a roulette table. For Ben, it’s about feeling like you’re in control. So, when that control starts to slip, on that one occasion in ten… Callum keeps his cards close to his chest as Ben eyes him from where he sits at the head of the table, Callum on one side of him, Kathy on the other. Callum doesn’t falter, merely raises his eyebrows. It’s a dare.

‘Nah,’ Ben shakes his head. ‘Nah, I ain’t having it. You’re bluffing. All in.’

‘All in.’ Callum smiles. He uses his free hand to slide his stack of chips into the middle of Ian’s dining table.

‘If you do that, this ends now.’ Ian interjects.

‘Thank God.’ Lola mutters from beside Kathy, sipping from her glass of wine. Ben takes a breath and lays his cards on the table.

‘Flush.’ In the moment of silence that follows, Ben thinks he’s done it, until Callum lays his cards down too.

‘Royal flush.’ Ben lets out an anguished groan and drops his head as Jay cheers gives Callum a congratulatory handshake.

‘You can’t win ‘em all, darling!’ Kathy laughs, shaking Ben’s shoulder as Callum rests one hand on his back and uses the other to collect his winnings.

‘Sorry, babe.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Ben frowns, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘No, you’re right, I’m not.’

* * *

( _who’s more affectionate in public?_ **ben** )

‘My round, then.’ Ben starts, as Jay drains the last of his pint, reluctantly releasing Callum’s hand to pre-emptively take his wallet from his pocket. ‘What’s everybody having?’ He stands, resting his hand against the back of Callum’s neck while he waits for the group’s drink orders. ‘Alright,’ he leans down, planting a kiss on Callum’s cheek. ‘Won’t be long, babe.’

‘You better not be.’ Callum responds, gazing fondly up at him. The queue at the bar is longer than ideal – it’s Friday night and they’re in the only club in the area – but Ben’s only been gone for all of two minutes when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Callum [21:52]: _Miss you X_

Ben turns back to their table to find Callum grinning, clearly waiting for a reaction. Ben grins back, blowing him a kiss across the bar. When he returns to the table, he slides back into his seat, sitting as close to Callum as he can without being on his lap, and drops his hand on top of his thigh. Callum doesn’t even pause in his conversation as he settles his arm around Ben’s shoulder to pull him impossibly closer as a warmth spreads through Ben’s chest. It’s confidence, mostly; part of the intentionally forgotten fear of people. Ben knows that. And with every affectionate touch or term Callum’s confidence grows too. The formerly earth-shattering becomes forgettable, becomes too-many-to-count. It’s backdrop. Secondary. It’s hands on thighs, arms around shoulders, kisses on cheeks when Ben’s only going to the bar. It’s this.


	5. (41-50)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've dropped a couple of prompts from the sequence and bumped some up from later on, but i'm aiming either for 100 prompts or 80 prompts total, so will write in some of my own prompts when the time comes!
> 
> bit of swearing in this one, as per the question! 
> 
> enjoy x

( _who’s more affectionate at home?_ **callum** )

It’s true: Ben’s drawn to Callum like a moth to flame whenever he’s in his vicinity, like there’s some physical, tangible magnetism between them. Something gravitational, even. (In some ways, there is: the force drawing Ben to Callum _is_ centripetal, pulling Ben back to earth, back to the centre, in moments of psychological wandering, let’s call them. That’s purely tangential, of course.) The point is, Callum doesn’t exactly discourage him, does he? Yes, Ben plasters himself against Callum’s side whenever he sits down next to him, but in the mere seconds that follow there’s hands on his back, shoulders, neck; kisses on his forehead; arms around his waist, fingers in his hair. It’s essentially positive reinforcement – no wonder he keeps coming back.

‘Morning.’ Callum emerges bleary-eyed from the bedroom, momentarily placing a hand against the back of Ben’s head before he takes a seat next to him at the dining table. ‘You’re up early.’ They’ve been here before, and he’s half worried that the mere observation is an unintentional invitation for implication. Ben reads that half-worry effortlessly, doesn’t even look up from his bowl.

‘Nothing’s wrong.’ He promises, waving a dismissive hand that Callum catches on its plummet to the table. ‘I’ve got to meet a client at the car lot first thing. Don’t panic.’ Callum nods, releasing Ben’s hand to raise the mug of tea that awaits him. As their idle morning small talk unfolds, Callum rests his arm on the back of Ben’s chair, fingertips barely grazing his shoulder as the two of them slowly wake up, the Square waking up with them on the streets below.

‘Right,’ Ben begins after ten minutes too long, if he’s honest. ‘As much as I hate to leave you, I’ve got to get ready.’ Callum nods, pulling Ben towards him to place a lingering kiss against his lips, fingers inevitably tracing their way through Ben’s hair once more. He’s in a rush by the time he’s on the way out of the door, and Callum sends him off with a kiss blown across the room, _love you!_ called from the kitchen table – _love you too!_ returned from the bottom of the stairs – and the unspoken promise of more hands on his back, shoulders, neck; more kisses on his forehead; more arms around his waist, more fingers in his hair when he gets home.

* * *

( _who says sorry first?_ **callum** )

He doesn’t just say it first – he says it constantly. He’d once apologised to Jay for _looking how Jay’s head felt_ , hadn’t even realised he’d apologised until he was trekking his way across the Square hoping to catch Ben in The Vic. He apologises for things that aren’t even in his control, most of the time, and does so sincerely. He’s sorry if the Minute Mart runs out of prawn cocktail crisps when it’s his turn to do the lunch run, he’s sorry if Ian’s wound Ben up again, he’s sorry if the rain ruins their plans, as though he’s a customer service representative for Mother Nature herself. But tonight he’s sorry that they’ve had an almighty row, that neither of them can remember how it started, and that the two of them are now laying between ice-cold sheets in a pitch-black bedroom with their backs to each other, having not said a word in hours, thinking that if they can’t remember what they were arguing about it can’t have been that important in the first place, can it? Callum turns onto his back, searching for an indication that Ben can’t sleep either and finding one quickly as Ben shifts his head on his pillow, releasing a heavy sigh.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ben’s movements still for a moment, just long enough for the tension occupying the space between them to dissipate entirely.

‘Ain’t your fault, is it?’

‘Ain’t it?’ Ben knows Callum well enough to know that’s a genuine question – if he was talking to himself, he’d have suspected sarcasm, but not from Callum. He turns over, struggles to make out the earnest expression that greets him, bites at his fingernails out of something close to nervousness until Callum pulls his hand away. 

‘I can’t really remember.’ He admits.

‘No, neither can I.’ They laugh, light and airy, so light that it almost manages to brighten the darkness, and they mean it, because it all seems so _silly_ now.

‘I’m sorry too. In case it was my fault.’

‘Well then, I _suppose_ I forgive you.’ It’s an eye roll translated into speech, and it’s followed by a kiss against Ben’s knuckles.

‘I suppose I forgive you too.’

* * *

( _who swears more?_ **ben** )

Callum’s thought about starting a swear jar a couple of times, but frankly they don’t make the things big enough, and even Ben hasn’t got _that_ much money. He’d spend less if he had to put a quid in a jar every time he blinked.

‘For _fuck_ sake.’ Ben throws his phone down next to him.

‘What?’ Is Callum’s absentminded response as he flicks through a newspaper.

‘Fucking deal fell through, didn’t it?’ He runs his hands over his face, shaking his head as he stands up, heading for the kitchen. ‘I told Jay we should never have trusted that prick. I’m telling you; knew something was off with him from the beginning.’ He slams the fridge door shut. ‘Car was a sack of shit anyway.’ He mumbles, and Callum grimaces.

‘Do you have to?’

‘Do I have to what?’

‘Swear that much?’ Ben rolls his eyes. ‘I mean it!’

‘They’re words, Callum. They’re made up, yeah?’

‘Well, you can make up some nicer ones then, can’t you?’

* * *

( _who’s the better singer?_ **ben** )

It’s the worst kept secret in Walford that Ben can sing – and given Walford’s history with so-called secrets, that’s saying something. He’s first up on karaoke at The Vic – his arrival usually met with affectionate comments of _that’s cheating! he can actually sing!_ or _you do know you’ll never get that microphone back, don’t you, Mick?_ as he takes to the stage – and treats the bathroom in the flat like his own miniature version of Wembley Arena.

‘How did all four of the judges turn around for _that_?’ Ben asks as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

‘Alright, Simon Cowell. She was good!’ Lola responds, passing Callum another bottle of beer.

‘I could do better than that.’ Ben retorts, intercepting the bottle and taking a sip himself before handing it back.

‘Oh, here we go…’ Jay rolls his eyes.

‘What?’ Ben asks.

‘Can we get through one episode of a talent show without you trying to prove you could outdo all the contestants?’ Callum pleads, scratching the hair at the base of Ben’s head, just to make sure he knows he’s only joking.

* * *

( _who would win in a dance off?_ **ben** )

‘Ben, please, you cannot keep calling our first dance a dance off.’ Callum gestures as frantically as a person can gesture when they’re holding a champagne flute in one hand and their husband’s hand in the other.

‘That sounds an awful lot like something somebody who was about to lose a dance off would say.’ Ben smirks as Callum takes a nervous sip of his drink. Ben’s tone is playful, his expression thoughtful, and Callum’s not sure which to believe. He’s kept this up for weeks and Callum’s starting to worry that it hasn’t been an elaborate joke, that Ben’s really about to stage a dance off in the middle of The Vic. And yes, alright, Ben got shot the last time Callum planned a wedding reception in The Vic, but all of this – every guest, every decoration, every drink, every piece of confetti, every heartfelt congratulations – started here: everything they have leads back to a handshake across the bar they’re standing next to. He’s out of time to think, though, because Jay’s taking to the stage to give his speech. The entire room listens intently, and before either of them have time to compose themselves, Jay’s beckoning them to the front of the pub, _and now, ladies and gentleman, the happy couple will have their first dance_ bellowed in a faux received pronunciation from a make-shift stage and met with thunderous applause. Ben takes Callum’s glass from his hand, setting it down on the bar as they navigating their way through the crowd. Callum can’t pretend he isn’t relieved to hear the familiar notes of the song they chose together, to finally be certain that it _was_ all an elaborate joke. He places his hand on the small of Ben’s back to draw him closer, and Ben rests his head against his chest, eyes falling closed as he clenches his jaw against the lump in his throat. By the time he opens them again at the end of the first chorus, Mick and Linda, Jay and Lola, and Stuart and Rainie are all dancing with them, the rest of their guests moving to join them. When the song – _their_ song – closes, the thunderous applause creeps back in, and Ben brings himself closer to Callum, straining to be heard above the noise.

‘I won.’ Callum frowns.

‘You won what?’

‘The dance off.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘I won.’ He repeats, pressing a kiss against Callum’s cheek, one hand cradling the back of his head. ‘Because I got to dance with you.’

* * *

( _who has the most difficult family?_ **ben** )

He can’t keep doing this. He cannot keep watching Ben trying to live up to impossible, ever-changing, illusory expectations that shapeshift every time Phil has a new task for him and move further out of his reach every time he thinks he’s done enough. He cannot keep having Ben coming home and not saying a word, thinking Callum won’t feel the weight of the silence as he curls himself into the furthest corner of the sofa and stares, eyes unfocused, in the general direction of the TV. And _Christ_ if it’s this difficult for Callum to watch, how difficult is it for Ben to keep reliving it? Callum leans against the bedroom doorframe, hoping to give Ben the impression of casual conversation, though they both know he’s too clever to buy it.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Nothing to talk about.’ Ben’s reply begins before Callum’s even finished asking the question.

‘Babe.’ Ben sighs, rubbing his forehead.

‘It’s déjà vu, Callum. It’s par for the course.’ He shrugs. ‘There’s nothing you can say about my dad that you ain’t already said, and that I ain’t already said about yours too.’ Callum can do nothing but give him a soft, sad smile, because he’s right, and there’s no two ways around it. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re sorry you can’t fix it. It’s not yours to fix. It can’t _be_ fixed.’

‘I’m not looking at you like anything.’ He straightens his back, replacing his warm expression with one of incredulity. ‘I’m wondering if you fancied a Chinese.’

* * *

( _who’d be the fun dad?_ **callum** )

Between Ben and Lola there’s no question – Ben’s the “fun parent”. He’ll never intentionally undermine her on a decision that carries any kind of lesson or call into question her maternal judgment, but he will occasionally let Lexi have pancakes for breakfast _and_ dinner. He has to draw the line somewhere, though, and as it turns out that line is the third thing that she wants Ben to buy for her when they’re meant to be shopping for Lola’s birthday present.

‘No, Lex. I’ve already bought you a new bag _and_ a new game, you don’t need that as well.’ He places the doll back on the shelf as Lexi folds her arms. Ben looks toward the sky, for strength or divine intervention, and catches Callum’s eyeline as he looks back down. _I’ll get it for her_ Callum mouths, because he’ll never undermine Ben either. Ben looks unsure, but nods. Callum picks the doll back up.

‘Well, since your dad’s already bought you two things, maybe I can get you this.’ He says, passing the doll back to Lexi, who wastes no time in throwing her arms around him.

‘What do you say, Lex?’ Ben says, looking on fondly.

‘Thank you, Callum!’ She responds as they head off to the checkout.

‘That’s it now, alright? We need to find something for your mum.’ Ben tells her as the three of them make their way to the next shop, steering her away from the pet shop she’s set her sights on. Lexi nods - she’ll work on getting Callum on board with the puppy next time. They do _eventually_ find something for Lola, and arrive back home in time for the three of them to join Jay and Lola for dinner. Lexi climbs onto a dining room chair, eager to show Lola her haul.

‘And this one’s from Callum!’ She explains, then disappears to the kitchen to show Jay too. Lola smirks as she goes, eyes flitting between Ben and Callum.

‘Don’t.’ Ben starts. ‘Trust me, it was easier to let her have the doll.’

‘I’ve just got a glimpse into the future.’ She laughs, and the two of them look at her with twin expressions of confusion. ‘You’re not going to be the fun dad forever.’

* * *

( _who’s better at driving?_ **callum** )

They can only play Fifa for so long, eventually moving on to Mario Kart, and as brilliant as Ben might be at card games, he and Mario are no match for Callum and Luigi.

‘You’re getting better items than me!’ Ben cries, glancing at Callum’s half of the screen.

‘How is that my fault?’ Callum laughs as he crosses the finish line in first place. Again.

‘I ain’t playing this anymore.’ Ben throws the controller down, reaching forward for another handful of popcorn.

‘ _Such_ a sore loser, ain’t ya? First poker, now this.’ He gestures to the screen.

‘Oi. We don’t talk about poker, alright?’ Ben points an accusatory finger at him. ‘Anyway, the game’s on your side. It’s because you’re player one.’ Callum laughs, raising his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, alright, babe. Of course, it’s because I’m player one. It’s nothing to do with me being better at the game, is it?’

‘Glad we’re on the same page.’ Ben huffs, shuffling back into the sofa cushions.

‘Maybe it’s just easier to drive when the car isn’t stolen.’ Callum muses playfully, a thoughtful expression on his face. Ben throws a handful of popcorn at him.

‘I said sorry for that.’

‘Do you know what? I’m not sure you did.’

‘Right. Well, maybe you’ll get your apology when I win a game. Pick a course – and it better not be Luigi’s Mansion.’

* * *

( _who’s more stubborn?_ **ben** )

Ben Mitchell doesn’t _settle_ for anything, if he can help it, but he _certainly_ doesn’t settle for the only the second-best table in his own brother’s restaurant.

‘It’s reserved, Ben.’ Ian gestures to a booking list, as though its mere existence is likely to make Ben change his mind.

‘Are you related to the person who reserved it?’

‘Well, no, but-’

‘Then I suggest you unreserve it.’ Callum smirks beside him.

‘Babe, it’s alright, we can sit somewhere else.’ He says, eager for the conversation to be over. Ian’s facial expression twists into something that Callum reads as grateful and Ben knows to be smug.

‘No, it ain’t alright, and no, we can’t. You’ve got three bookings in a restaurant with twenty tables in it. I guarantee no punter of yours has a sentimental attachment to their table, Ian.’ Apart from Ben, obviously. ‘Unreserve it.’ Kathy chooses the right moment to walk in.

‘Mum, will you tell him?’ Ian calls over to the doorway.

‘Tell him what?’ She asks as she takes her coat off.

‘Tell him that I’m not going to change someone’s table reservation just so he can sit where he wants.’ Kathy rolls her eyes.

‘Oh, just change the reservation, will you? He’s your brother.’ She waves a dismissive hand, kissing Ben’s cheek as she walks past.

‘Cheers, Mum.’ He turns his attention back to Ian, whose smug expression has miraculously disappeared, and nods towards the booking list. ‘You heard.’

* * *

( _who’s more likely to lose their phone, keys, or something important?_ **callum** )

‘Well, where did you last have it?’ Ben asks, slightly disinterested – this crisis is a weekly event. Callum’s always losing something.

‘If I knew that, it wouldn’t be lost, would it?’ Callum responds, unable to believe Ben would ask such a _ridiculous_ question.

‘Alright, don’t get annoyed with me. I didn’t lose it, did I?’ The burning stare Callum gives Ben as he pulls open a kitchen drawer is enough to tell him that was _not_ the right thing to say by any stretch of the imagination. ‘It ain’t gonna be in there, is it?!’

‘I don’t _know_ , Ben!’ He responds, pushing aside various takeaway menus, all housing long-expired vouchers for _50% off Two Large Pizzas_ or a _Free Side of Garlic Bread_ , then slamming the drawer shut again.

‘Why is your phone ever going to be in a kitchen drawer?’ Ben struggles to hold back a laugh.

‘It ain’t funny!’ Callum lets out an exasperated sigh and runs his hands over his face. It dawns on Ben that this isn’t his average _I’ve lost my keys_ panic – it’s the tip of an iceberg. It’s being stressed about work, it’s frustration with Stuart’s most recent display of idiocy, it’s worrying that he’s going to put Kathy off him by being late to dinner because he can’t find his _stupid phone_.

‘Alright.’ Ben stands up, crossing to where Callum leans against the kitchen counters and placing his hand under his chin to get him to meet his gaze. ‘It’s alright.’ It’s slow and careful, and it’s enough to release some of the tension in Callum’s shoulders. ‘So, you’ve checked under the cushions, under the bed, in the drawer, for some reason…’ Callum laughs this time, crossings his arms over his chest. Ben glances around the room, catching sight of Callum’s coat. He places his hand in the pocket and, lo and behold, retrieves Callum’s phone. He holds it up in victory, and Callum looks vaguely embarrassed.

‘Are you serious?’ He asks no one in particular as he takes the phone from Ben’s hand. Ben places his hands on Callum’s shoulders, stretching up to kiss his forehead.

‘Now. Let’s go and make sure my mum still loves you, shall we?’


	6. (51-60)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in this chapter - i got sidetracked with my actual degree and then with writing ben and callum dealing with their own degrees.
> 
> i promise this will get finished!
> 
> enjoy x

( _who’s more spontaneous?_ **callum** )

‘I’ve booked it.’ Callum beams as he enters the car lot.

‘You’ve booked what?’ Ben asks, barely looking up from the invoice in front of him.

‘A weekend away.’ That gets his attention.

‘You what?’ The panic evident in his voice is quickly overtaken by sheer confusion. ‘You only had the idea yesterday!’

‘Which is why I booked it today.’ Ben frowns, gesturing for Callum to continue his explanation. ‘Before you had a chance to change your mind.’ Ben manoeuvres around the desk, meeting the taller man in the middle of the room and reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. He holds the back of Callum’s head in his hands, whispering _thank you_ against his lips before placing a kiss there too. Callum watches the stress that’s had hold of Ben’s features for weeks dissipate entirely.

‘Where are we going then?’ He asks.

* * *

( _who’s more likely to care for the other when they’re sick?_ **both of them** )

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any idea what’s wrong with your boyfriend?’ Are the first words Callum hears on his return from a home visit – not quite what he’d expected, but, if he’s honest, not altogether surprising.

‘Today or in general?’ He laughs, placing a document wallet onto Jay’s desk.

‘He was in here at lunchtime with a face like thunder asking where you were’ Callum frowns, concern clouding his expression.

‘Where is he now?’ He asks.

‘Upstairs, I think.’ Jay shrugs, scribbling a signature onto the paper in front of him and gesturing towards the ceiling with his free hand. ‘Go on.’ He says, and Callum wastes no time in following his instruction.

He cautiously climbs the stairs, gearing himself up for an inevitable tirade on a deal that’s gone south. Instead, he finds Ben resting listlessly against a stack of cushions, Callum’s dressing gown draped over him. He stirs at the sound of Callum’s arrival, shuffling underneath his makeshift blanket as the taller man perches himself on the arm of the sofa.

‘You alright?’ It’s almost a whisper, spoken as Callum rests the back of his hand across Ben’s forehead and struggles to decide if he’s sleep-warm or _too_ warm. Ben nods half-heartedly, lifting his glasses to rub at his eyes.

‘Must’ve fallen asleep.’ He mumbles, gesturing towards the muted TV, but the rasp in his voice tells Callum all he needs to know. ‘Where are you going?’ Ben calls – _tries_ to call – after him as he moves towards the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later with two cold and flu tablets and a glass of water.

‘Here.’ Callum takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table.

‘I’m fine.’ Ben protests. It’s for show, really, and he’s already moving to sit up, but Callum humours him anyway.

‘Just take them.’ He persists, and Ben surrenders, grimacing as he returns the glass.

‘Have you got to go back to work?’ He asks. Callum’s shaking his head before Ben reaches the end of his sentence.

‘No,’ he smiles. ‘I’m all yours.’

Ben turns down Callum’s countless offers to make him something to eat, make him something warm to drink, bring him something more comfortable to wear, wanting nothing more than Callum.

The following morning, Callum heads out to work early, leaving Ben under the duvet with everything he could possibly need in arm’s reach. He returns no more than two hours later, loosening his tie as he enters the bedroom.

‘You as well?’ Ben asks softly, as Callum sheds his work shirt and replaces it with a worn-looking t-shirt. Callum nods, pulling back the duvet and settling himself underneath the covers. ‘My turn to look after you then, ain’t it?’ Ben laughs, pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek.

* * *

( _who’s clumsier?_ **callum** )

Callum rarely gets through a week without breaking something.

It’s harmless, usually: a plate with a chipped edge, or a glass placed in too precarious a position on the corner of a counter smashing against the floor. Always replaceable – if expensive – and ordinarily comical, met with _bloody hell, another one?_ as Ben picks up a dustpan and brush.

If it’s material, it doesn’t matter, except for the one occasion on which it _does_ : when the material houses the sentimental.

Ben comes home from work to find Callum hovering anxiously in the kitchen, a basket of laundry on the dining table and his phone in his hand.

‘What have I done wrong, then?’ He asks, dropping his coat onto the sofa. ‘You ain’t answered my texts in hours.’

‘I left my phone in my jacket pocket.’ Callum tells him, gesturing to the laundry basket by way of an explanation.

‘It’s only a phone, babe.’ Ben speaks sincerely, and he truly doesn’t mean to upset Callum by saying it, but the man looks ready to break.

‘Every single picture we’ve taken since we got together was on that phone.’ He throws the now-useless device onto the kitchen counter and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Ben immediately takes him into his arms.

‘The memories won’t go anywhere.’ He promises.

* * *

( _who’s more likely to do more for other people on a daily basis?_ **callum** )

Ben has his moments, but his favours aren’t often _favours_ at all – they’re leverage. But Callum? Well, Callum doesn’t even realise he’s doing somebody a favour half the time. He’ll bring somebody a coffee, agree to pop to the shop on someone else’s behalf for no other reason than _well, I’m going that way anyway_ , and say yes to covering a shift at a pub he doesn’t work at before he realises that he might be losing himself amongst other people’s errands.

He’s too approachable – that’s the problem. He’s the face you trust to ask for directions in a train station.

 _You’re too nice_ , Ben tells him. ( _No such thing_ , he replies.)

But as he sits at his kitchen table filling out paperwork already conveniently marked with Jay’s signature and absolutely nothing else, he’s starting to wonder if Ben might be right.

‘Evening!’ Ben announces as he enters the flat, resting his hands on Callum’s shoulders. He drops a kiss into the taller man’s hair, peering at the documents stacked up on the table. ‘What’s all this?’ He asks.

‘Just stuff for the parlour.’ Callum responds, dropping his pen onto the table. 

‘It’s eight o’clock, babe. And shouldn’t Jay be doing this?’ Ben frowns. Callum only hesitates for a second, but a cautious silence after a question like that can only mean _yes_. Without another word, Ben begins gathering the paperwork.

‘Ben,’ Callum starts, but can’t convince himself to go as far as to stop him. Ben tears a yellow Post-it note from a pad somewhere to Callum’s right, scrawling _DO IT YOURSELF!_ onto the paper before adhering it to the sheet on the top of the pile.

‘Won’t be long.’ He says, already on his way downstairs. He re-emerges with a smile. ‘Right, then. What shall we have for dinner?’

* * *

( _who’s more likely to buy the other an expensive gift on a normal day?_ **ben** )

‘What is it?’ Callum asks, eyeing the perfectly wrapped – that is, not wrapped by Ben – box in front of him. Ben rolls his eyes.

‘Well, open it, and you’ll find out, won’t you?’ He laughs.

‘What’s it for?’

‘For being you.’ If anything, that makes Callum _more_ suspicious, but Ben’s growing impatient. ‘Please, just open it.’ He repeats. Callum begins carefully peeling the paper away from the box, trying not to tear it.

It takes all of ten seconds for Callum to realise what he’s holding.

It's a new phone.

‘This is too expensive.’ He protests, immediately placing the gift back on the table.

‘No, it isn’t.’ Ben insists, tearing away the rest of the paper himself and removing the phone from the box. ‘Unlock it.’ He says, passing Callum the device.

Callum reluctantly does so, eyes immediately widening as he recognises the image illuminating the screen to be one of many lost when he’d broken his old phone.

‘The rest of them are on there too.’ Ben says. Gentle, this time.

‘How?’ Callum asks.

‘No idea, to be honest.’ He shrugs. ‘Just don’t wash this one.’

* * *

( _who’s more likely to suggest watching a romcom?_ **ben** )

‘Keep scrolling.’ Ben instructs definitively as he watches Callum navigating a series of movie suggestions. He’s resting against the headboard of their double bed while Callum leans forward, focused intently on the laptop perched between them as he hovers around the Marvel titles.

‘But we’ve only got a few left.’ Callum whines, running the cursor between _Thor: Ragnarok_ and _Infinity War_.

‘Which is how I know I can’t sit through another one tonight.’ Ben laughs, tracing patterns against the base of Callum’s back as Callum looks over his shoulder. ‘Next time. I promise.’

‘Well, what then?’ Callum asks, turning his attention back to the laptop.

‘I don’t know. Search Richard Curtis.’ Ben shrugs, and Callum immediately lets out a laugh.

‘What, so you can eye up Hugh Grant?’

‘I’ll remember that when you suggest _Thor_ again in three days’ time.’ Ben retorts. Callum opens his mouth, ready to defend himself. ‘Yeah, babe, you watch it for the plot. I know. Now stick _Notting Hill_ on, will you?’

* * *

_(who’s more likely to snore?_ **ben** )

It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so _impossibly annoying_. Logically, _rationally_ , Callum knows Ben doesn’t do it on purpose, and yet it only seems to happen when a particularly heavy day at work is drawing ever closer.

Callum rolls onto his back, turning his head to look at Ben – who, in fairness, looks almost angelic – and tries to figure out how to _shut him up_ without really waking him.

He traces his knuckle across Ben’s cheek, runs his fingers through his hair, but the noise continues. He’ll have to be more obvious.

He shuffles towards Ben, draping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his forehead. The racket _finally_ stops as Ben stirs, instinctively moving towards the embrace and burying his face against Callum’s shirt.

(If Ben conversationally remarks _you look tired_ over breakfast the next morning, then he can count himself lucky that Callum knows when to bite his tongue.)

* * *

( _who would do better in the big brother house?_ **ben** )

Stuart bounds down the stairs and out onto the street, the flat door slamming closed behind him as Ben turns to Callum.

‘I can’t believe him.’ He says, throwing himself down onto the sofa. ‘He’s like a cartoon character. I feel like I’m living in _The Truman Show_ or _Big Brother_ , or something.’ He shakes his head, running a hand over his face.

‘You’re doing much better than you would be if you were on _Big Brother_.’ Callum laughs, placing a carton of milk back in the fridge. Ben frowns, somewhat offended.

‘If I ever went on _Big Brother_ , I’d win.’ It’s delivered as fact. Callum nods, doubtful.

‘Like you won that game of poker, yeah?’ He taunts, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his tea. Ben laughs despite himself.

‘It ain’t a game of cards though, is it? It ain’t about luck.’ He starts, shuffling towards the edge of the sofa. Callum inhales deeply, anticipating the monologue he knows Ben’s about to deliver. ‘It ain’t even about the other contestants. It’s about the audience – about getting them on side. If you’re nice, you’re likeable, but likeable ain’t good TV, is it?' He pauses for a moment, then continues: 'No offence.’ Callum laughs.

‘None taken. Go on then,’ He sighs, leaning back against the kitchen counter in a performance of exasperation designed to mask his endless willingness to indulge Ben. ‘What would you do?’ Ben smirks.

‘I’d tell the audience I was playing a game in my introduction – _interesting_ , right from the beginning.’ He explains. ‘Then I’d go in and _pretend_ to be nice to all the other housemates, so that they’d trust me enough to tell me what they really thought of each other,’ he gestures: _obviously_. ‘But I’d never say enough to let them know what I thought of anyone else. I’d be able to start an argument at the drop of a hat, but nobody would have anything over me – the eternal upper hand. Then I’d nominate whoever was most boring, _because_ they were boring, so that the audience knew I was still on their side.’

Spoken like a true Machiavellian antagonist. There’s a maniacal look in his eye by the time he finishes talking, and Callum’s slightly bewildered.

‘That’s all well and good,’ he says, crossing the room. ‘But you’d never be able to share a bedroom with fifteen people.’ Ben looks defeated.

‘Good point.’ He concedes, settling back into the sofa cushions.

* * *

( _who would do better in i’m a celebrity get me out of here?_ **callum** )

‘I think I’d do better at _I’m a Celebrity_.’ Callum muses as he drops down beside Ben, placing his mug on the coffee table in front of them. 

‘Better than you’d do in _Big Brother_ , you mean?’

‘Better than you.’ Ben drops his jaw, preparing to retaliate. ‘Don’t even try and argue.’

‘If I had to make my case for _Big Brother_ , then you have to make your case for this.’ Ben crosses his arms over his chest.

‘Alright,’ Callum agrees. Only, Callum doesn’t need the space that Ben’s monologue afforded him. ‘Spiders.’ Ben’s face falls as he uncrosses his arms.

‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.’ He mumbles, settling himself against Callum’s chest.

* * *

( _who’s most likely to have the cheesiest pick-up lines?_ **callum** )

They hadn’t planned to spend their date night listening to another couple’s date, but it’s the most fun they’ve had in _weeks_. The second the waiter had seated the couple at the table next to them, it was clear they’d never met before, and an hour later – when they’d asked for the bill _with_ the main course – it was clear they’d never meet again.

Ben and Callum had done well to keep their composure while the date played out, communicating through unintentional smirks and nudges against ankles underneath the table meaning _pay attention_. But the second the couple are out of earshot, restaurant door swinging closed behind them, the two of them immediately erupt into laughter, each of them still struggling to catch their breath a minute later.

‘That was _phenomenal_.’ Ben wipes his eyes with a serviette.

‘He got her name wrong twice in thirty seconds.’ Callum replies. ‘He called her two different names, both of them _wrong_ , in thirty seconds.’

‘He used an _actual_ pick-up line.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a good pick-up line.’ Callum raises his hand in defiance.

‘Ain’t there?’ Ben laughs, leaning back in his chair as he raises his eyebrows. ‘Go on then.’ Callum takes a second to get into character, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

‘Kiss me if—’ He starts, and Ben immediately reaches across the table.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @bxnmitchell on twitter!
> 
> (updating in chapters of about ten questions as the fics are written!)


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